Do You Want To Build A Snowman?
by floatsodelicately
Summary: Escaping Voldemort and Nagini, Hermione appears in front of her childhood friend with an unconscious Harry. How can he get her to trust him after all these years? A very short one-shot, prologue to a Hermione/Sherlock story coming soon.


_"I never see you anymore, _

_Come out the door,_

_It's like you've gone away…"_

_Do You Want To Build A Snowman? - Frozen_

* * *

"Do you remember?"

He held his empty hands up to her, showing the panicked girl that he wasn't a threat. She didn't answer him, gripping the stick in her hand as she pointed it at him.

"Hermione, it's me, Sherlock. Do you remember me?"

Her eyes filled with tears that she blinked away; suddenly looking fiercely angry and she held the stick tighter.

"No you're not, stay away, and stop lying!"

* * *

They knew each other as children, each other's only friends. Hermione's magic started acting up and she shut herself in her room, barely leaving and eventually leaving school after a magical burst that spread ice through the house and caused an indoor blizzard sent the Department of Underage Magic to take her into the Ministry for emergency tutoring.

On the day that the ministry workers were to take her away, it snowed in London, leaving a blanket of fresh powder on the ground. Sherlock came to the door again; they had always played in the snow, always built their snowman and topped it with one of Mycroft's hats, much to the older boy's displeasure. But that was before she had lost control of her powers. They had been playing Pirate Ship again when she stomped her foot on the ground, she was only 8 after all, in her annoyance at having to be saved by Captain Holmes. The ice had formed without her noticing, she never had trouble walking on it and she wasn't bothered by the cold that came with it. Sherlock hadn't seen it either, the unusually observant boy had walked to follow his friend as she stormed off and slipped. She had started avoiding him after that, the image of Sherlock lying on the ice, confused and bleeding from the wound on his head as she cried out for help was one that she could not forget. It was better that she stayed away, she thought.

Sherlock had moved away some time after Hermione had left, to the countryside when his father retired and his mother no longer wanted to live so close to the city. It was boring there. It was so quiet.

Years later, Sherlock was stood outside smoking when two people appeared out of thin air; one of them unconscious, both of them thin and malnourished. The girl's hands fluttered over the boy's frame, checking for injuries before waving a stick over him, muttering various Latin phrases as she did. Sherlock was shocked to see the bleeding wounds clean themselves and knit back together, he heard the crack of resetting bones and the girls sigh of relief when she sat back exhausted. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes as the sun warmed her face.

How had she appeared? What had she done? It didn't matter all that much, no one would ever believe that Sherlock Holmes found it unnecessary to know the reason behind something extraordinary, in his 20 years, he had rarely left any stones unturned and thoroughly examined...but in this case, it _didn't_ matter. That hair, that wild hair that had bounced to life when she removed her hat before examining her friend, he knew that hair. She was only wearing a light jacket, which would possibly make sense if she had been on an unexpected journey from somewhere warmer, but her companion was bundled up to protect against the winter chill. She didn't even feel the need for gloves as her bare hands rested on the snow, as if the cold didn't bother her. He only knew of one person that could stand out in her pyjamas and bare feet in the snow without sniffling in bed the next morning with a cold. It had been 10 years but he was sure.

It _was_ her.

* * *

The crunch of footsteps on snow set her on edge and she pulled herself to her feet, judging by her wince she had moved too quickly for her aching body, raising that stick towards the noise.

Her eyes were wild and frightened, if that stick could heal her friend; chances were that she could hurt him with it if she chose to. He needed her to trust him, to recognise him, but would she?

He took a step closer and she flinched back, attempting to shield the boy who lay prostrate behind her. Sherlock raised his hands, dropping the cigarette into the snow, letting it sink with a quiet sizzle. He moved forward slowly and saw her brows furrow in thought. _Good_, she'll get there. His old friend might not have the same speed as him, but they shared their high intellect. It often ostracised them, leaving them alone in school until they had found each other.

"Do you remember? Hermione, it's me, Sherlock. Do you remember me?"

"No you're not, stay away, and stop lying!"

"I'm not lying, Hermione."

The tears ran silently as she watched him. So she didn't believe it was him. She can reset bones with a stick; it's possible that someone with the same abilities would be able to disguise themselves as someone else. This was opening up far too many new doors for him; so many new possibilities. She needed to be assured that he was who he said he was. How could he do that? What would be familiar?

He took in the flakes of snow that were starting to fall around them and remembered. If this didn't work then he'd wind up looking like some childish lunatic…

"It's snowing, Hermione… Do you want to build a snowman?"

She gasped in relief and dropped the stick, collapsing onto the ground and sending a flurry of powdery snow up into the air around her. He rushed towards her as the hiccupping sobs started and she latched onto him desperately.

* * *

A.N. So here's a silly/serious one-shot, I'll be doing another Hermione/Sherlock story that takes place during the series but I don't know when I'll get around to that, this story can act as a kind of prologue to that story when it does turn up : )


End file.
